


(Love)sick fools

by Shinyshinx



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Marble Hornets
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinyshinx/pseuds/Shinyshinx
Summary: Strangers are thrown together by circumstance.





	(Love)sick fools

**Author's Note:**

> ey i made a playlist for this fic to listen to as you read!  
> https://8tracks.com/dustodust/sickfools

Tim Wright, currently assessing his situation, really wished he was dead.

  
The sickness seemed to seep off of his stalker-the confrontation Tim had initiated had caused him to bring his hand over his mouth, forcing back the intrusive urge to cough as he glared at the figure. Tall and gangly, hiding under choppy, unkempt brown hair, looking completely panicked at being caught in the action of following him.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ ? _ ”  _ Tim’s voice came out as a strung out hiss. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you for the last, what, four days? What do you  _ want from me _ ?”

 

The danger stammered. It seemed as though he hadn’t thought through what he was going to say if he was confronted about his actions. It took the stranger a few moments, hesitantly brushing long strands of hair back from his face to look Tim in the face, before he could reply.   
  


“Listen, I know what this looks like-and it doesn’t look good, and I’ve probably scared you a lot, but I swear to god I’m not an enemy. I don’t know why I keep following you.” He shifted as if this was an acceptable explanation. The more Tim looked at him, the more he moved.

 

Tim’s laugh was harsh, a sound that came off bitter and sarcastic. “You ‘don’t know why’ you’ve been stalking me for nearly a week? I’ve been so anxious that I can barely bring myself to by more smokes. Go  _ away _ . I don’t want anything to do with any of that-any of that bullshit anymore, and you  _ reek.  _ I should’ve called the cops on you on day two, just leave me alone, alright?” It was startling how fast he went from defensive to almost pleading. Tim wasn’t doing too hot as a result of the stranger bearing down his neck; he could swear he could see  _ it  _ lurching around corners, memories of Brian and Alex blurring on the outside of his mind, and the past seemed determined to continuously unearth itself to bother him. Another thing just to add to his perpetual list of reasons he had a death wish, he guessed.

The sickness wasn’t helping, either. Every time he’d made eye contact with this man, even briefly, brought the stabbing headache of its presence, dark and beyond his understanding, bringing migraines and coughing fits and black, sticky vomit. He was sick of trying to clean out the bathtub of his shitty apartment to keep everything from smelling, pill bottles were littering every countertop, and he was desperate for what felt like suffering to just...stop. God, he wanted it to stop so bad.

 

The stranger continued to try to defend himself, however. “C’mon, listen to me for a sec. I know you know what brought me.” His voice, still jittery as ever, had lowered a notch in reference to it. “I’d leave if I could, but I keep getting drawn back to you. I feel like a moth. It’s not the normal itch when I’m...uh, working. It needs you for something, it needs  _ us  _ for something.”

 

This was enough to get Tim to turn around to leave. His hand couldn’t get to his pocket for a cigarette nearly fast enough. The stranger yelped, even ran after him, and his efforts were met with a firm punch to the face that sent him backwards. Holding his eye under one lopsided frame of his goggles, he looked almost pathetic, but Tim wasn’t going to be stopped, and once he’d taken the time to mumble to the stranger just who he was fucking with, he finally, finally fled again for the safety of his apartment. Away from prying eyes and he wouldn’t have to think about this. About what it must mean for him.

  
  


The stranger stayed away for about four days.

 

The entire time, Tim stayed put, working through stashes of food and pills to keep the paranoia and flashbacks at bay. The only thing becoming a faster and more unwelcome problem was the nearly-constant nausea that crept on him the second he woke. It always looked the same-thick, black tar sitting in his sink, a bloody clump reminding him that his past wasn’t intending on leaving him alone, despite his desperate, clawing attempts to flee it. The sickness was the worst it had been in a very, very long time-all this effort to scrub the blood off his hands was just making his palms bleed.

 

On the fourth day, the stranger came back to him like a kicked puppy, apparently back to old stalking habits. The disheveled look to him made it clear he’d been sleeping in the trees the last couple of nights; though, judging by appearances and the smell of dirt, he’d been living in the woods a lot longer than Tim had first assumed. It made sense. No servant of the Operator was fit for a public eye.

 

The knocking had made him pull out another cigarette before he’d even stood up. It was the only way he was going to be able to directly address this bullshit before it started clogging up the safety of his apartment and putting Tim even more on edge; Smoke floated up from dark eyes heavy-ringed with bags.

The goggles were in his hair and the stranger’s puffy bruised eye also gave him a more miserable appearance than before. Neither of them seemed to be having the best of days.

 

“Still not going away.” Mystery man started, tipping his hat with that godforsaken symbol on the front at him, making Tim’s arm jerk with the temptation to slam the door in his face. Instead, he forced his fingers to stop clutching the wood of the door, took a breath. It’s fine. He’s fine. The sickness doesn’t hurt. The lying didn’t make him feel much better, but it was better than nothing.

 

“You’re batshit,” Tim mumbled, fully aware of the irony of this statement, before he shook his head. “What do you want, again?”

 

Stalker-admirer seemed to visibly perk up at this, as if surprised Tim hadn’t slammed the door on him too. “Not batshit. I’m Tobi.” He started off, head tilting as he looked Tim up and down. Fit in with the emo requirements to work for the Operator, but maybe a little too...happily settled into his apartment with clean clothes and what appeared to be a completely normal life? Hardy har har, as if the Operator would pick anyone neurotypical.

“I’m just trying to say that I’m not really in super control here. Normally I'd've gotten the message and fucked off but I  _ can’t _ , like, physically. I’m sorry.” The awkward shifting of his legs was almost endearing. Tim stared at him a long moment, thinking this over; Tobi kept rambling, spooked at what could be criticism.   
“I don’t know, I’m just saying you don’t have to hide out in here like a hermit when, I don’t plan on harassing you? Or even really doing..anything. I’m here to hang out until whatever unholy fuckin’ entity I work for decides I can go.” The avoidance of the word ‘we’ was deliberate, something not unnoticed by Tim. The chatter continued until he finally cut him off.

 

“Do you want to come in for something? Your choices are cigarettes and coffee.” He said curtly, surprising both himself and Tobi. It was a moment before he responded a hesitant yes, creeping behind Tim with his shoulders hunched, as if the doorframe were lower than it was, all jitters and the nervous ticking of his knuckles cracking.

  
  


From the conversation in the kitchen, Tim had had two options; kick Tobi back out to stalk him in the forest, or get the dirt out from under pine needle’s nails while accepting he had a temporary guest. Tobi explained that the Operator was physically keeping him drawn to the town, and through it, to Tim. Tobi was a bizarre one; unlike those who normally associated with the Operator, be it willing or not, he wasn’t plagued with illness. It was a blessing that seemed to go unnoticed by him, but Tim didn’t resent him for it. Instead, he felt a pitiful swirl of envy. If only his problems would fade without the aid of countless medications.

 

Since the symptoms of Tim’s physical ailment seemed to suddenly subside within about twenty minutes of Tobi’s arrival, it was decided he could stay with him for a while. Tobi had to take a detour to fetch his backpack from the woods, and before he had a chance to argue, Tim had pointed him in the direction of the shower while he lit a cigarette, crashing on the couch to try and cope with this new intrusion in his life. This is what he gets for being impulsive-another fucking mouth to feed.

However, the most surprising part of it all was the disappearance of the sickness. He was certain that if he’d felt as sick as he had all week, Tobi wouldn’t have been invited in. This relief would prove to be short-lived and just as confusing as the rest of the Operator’s effect on their lives.

 

For the moment, Tim had to get something addressed-the clothes Tobi had in his cruddy backpack were covered in a layer of pine needles. He practically threw a pair of sweatpants at him before he could protest, snatching up the offending pile to stick in the laundry bag for his next trip downstairs. Though he resisted the urge to pry, the utter  _ lack  _ of things Tobi kept on his person stood out like a sore thumb. Two rusted hatches, two shirts, two pairs of jeans, a pair of hiking boots and a pair of sneakers. The weird set of goggles and that godawful hat. A sweatshirt. Gauze. First aid kit. A water bottle.

He took the backpack to his guest room, out of sight and out of mind.

 

When Tobi had finally emerged from the shower, pink-skinned and bundled up in Tim’s just slightly too-small clothes, he thanked Tim again as he walked into his temporary bedroom, and Tim drifted just long enough for Tobi to move as if he was going to put on that fucking hat.

 

“Hey, not in my apartment. Take that off and toss it in the wash bag if you have to keep it.” His voice was sharp, but Tobi, instead of backing down, began to bristle.   
“I need it for…. _ recruitment. _ ” The look he fixed Tim was suddenly challenging, giving the man pause, but he fixed Tobi back with an equally hard stare. “Don’t wear it here. I don’t want to see it.” _ Always watches. No eyes. _

 

“Fine.”

The conversation ended there.


End file.
